Two women, at a rest stop
off NH-2, wondering
if the best way to the capital
was northwest, in uncomfortable
shoes. They worry
about the lost stories down south
too, the one with movie stars
and crazy paparazzi
rendezvous, where good luck
is certain and miseries aplenty for
you. Yet they set out toward
limelight and disasters with doubts
few, expecting what has never been
expected before- the loss of innocence
anew. The living clock’s ticking disquiet
now pervades all, the highway, the grisly
shoe, the urban march, the singing lark,
the enveloping dark.
